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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27219187">Something Borrowed, Something Blue</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabbitprint/pseuds/rabbitprint'>rabbitprint</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Courting Rituals, F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Humor, Love Confessions, Viera (Final Fantasy), Viera Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:02:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,208</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27219187</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabbitprint/pseuds/rabbitprint</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers for MSQ, set between 5.0 and 5.3, F!WoL/Exarch. </p><p>"I need," the Warrior announced blandly, over a simple cup of green tea, "a full list of your courting customs here on the First, Exarch."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>168</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Something Borrowed, Something Blue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/asamino/gifts">asamino</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>
  <i>Prompt from asamino: "ohhh could you write about f!wol getting confessed to or confessing to the exarch after the events of shadowbringers (or 5.3.)?"</i>
</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I need," the Warrior announced blandly, over a simple cup of green tea, "a full list of your courting customs here on the First, Exarch."<br/>
<br/>
Caught in the middle of pouring his own cup, Raha's hand jerked; he splashed hot water onto the table and had the excuse of apologizing, even though nothing had been damaged apart from his nerves and dignity. As he mopped up the liquid with the nearest napkin available, he could not help but steal several rapid -- somewhat helpless -- glances at the viera woman as she calmly took a sip, contemplating the bookshelves on the far wall as if expecting them to launch a tome at her in direct reply. <br/>
<br/>
Of course. With the Lightwardens slain and the prospect of leaving the First forever behind, it made sense for the Warrior to take advantage of the opportunity while she could. Raha could hardly fault the woman for wanting something more pleasant for a change. After all, she had just saved two worlds. She had nearly perished several times over, in a variety of horrific ways. It made -- it made <em>sense</em>, he reminded himself sternly, around the flutter of some uncertain reaction in his chest, like a cicada shrieking its way through the tranquility of a summer evening. She <em>should</em> have the chance to enjoy herself for once, before having to return to the wars still festering on the Source.<br/>
<br/>
He folded up the napkin into a neat, carefully damp square, his fingers measuring each crease. "Is there someone within the Crystarium who has caught your eye? Or, mayhap, in Eulmore and its surrounding villages?"<br/>
<br/>
The Warrior sighed, sounding more regretful than enthusiastic about the whole business. She plunked down her cup and stretched her arms to their full lengths, like bronze towers to the sky. "I have already learned many of Eorzea's customs, and that was no small task," she began. "And finding a partner of good sport for an evening or five seems to operate in much the same way across both worlds. But courting is another matter." She waved a hand idly in the air, back and forth like a metronome that had lost all interest in standing upright. "There is too much that can go wrong. I do not intend to allow carelessness to cost me this one."<br/>
<br/>
<em>Courting</em>. It <em>was</em> another situation entirely. The Warrior, Raha knew, was no stranger to companionship of the body; she was an affectionate soul, and showed it most often through physical gestures of varying degrees. If even Raha himself went to her now and expressed interest, he had no doubt that she would welcome him for a few bells of entertainment. The Warrior had enough expertise in such invitations; she did not need to ask him for advice. <br/>
<br/>
No. This sounded far more formal, as if one might be tied in an Eternal Bond with another: a relationship that had been officiated in ceremony, to be neither made nor broken as easily as changing a door latch. And -- even if it was not intended to be a lifelong commitment -- she was still treating the matter as needing more attention than the rest. Whether it was as bedmates or traveling companions, homeholders or platonic sworn partners, none of the labels mattered. The details of such a union were far less important than the fact that the Warrior intended to hold it as special in her heart.<br/>
<br/>
It meant something to her. And -- by extension -- it held significance to Raha, as well.<br/>
<br/>
Clinging to the logic of the problem in order to steady him, Raha set the napkin aside and checked on the teapot. "'Tis a cultural matter, it is true. Which bears a unique challenge as well, with so much of the First having lost or redefined such legacies after the Flood." He paused in the intellectual exercise of it all, unable to escape the overriding significance of the entire matter. "I would be happy to assist you in this, of course. Yet -- once this list is complete, what do you intend to do with it?"<br/>
<br/>
She gave him a look as if she was wondering, keenly, if his wits had already crystallized. "<em>Everything</em>," she emphasized heavily. "Or as much as he would be interested in. The male that I have taken a liking to is rather <em>poor</em> at picking up subtleties. I have tried a number of creative means to communicate my intentions, with no success. It appears that I must set clearer terms for him if I am to have any hope at all." <br/>
<br/>
There it was, then. Raha forced himself to make a slow nod. <br/>
<br/>
"Then we shall have to do our best," he assured her, reorganizing his thoughts around which librarians he could call upon who would not instantly stir up a fresh wave of rumors that the Exarch himself was out wooing someone. "I will consult with the Cabinet and see what we might gather for you as swiftly as possible. Rest assured that you have my full support in every way, my friend."<br/>
<br/>
The Warrior regarded him for a long moment, tilting her head as she seemed to pass through several rapid reevaluations of her plans. "I am surprised," she admitted at last. "I seem to recall a miqo'te who would wax lyrical at any moment about the importance of only entering into such passions after yearning in prolonged <em>agony</em> for the object of your desire, writing an armory's worth of bad poetry and casting <em>longing</em> glances from the nearest campfire, your features artfully lit to show off the best side of your nostrils."<br/>
<br/>
Raha remembered such notions too; he had never understood back then why the rest of the Students of Baldesion had looked so pained whenever he would talk loudly about the proper way to seduce another through dramatic self-restraint. "A century of seeing people lose their loved ones too soon has taught me the importance of being able to share what you can, I suppose, before life takes them from you." <br/>
<br/>
It came out more softly than he intended, regret sharpening the edges to give it a bite. Even though it was the truth, Raha did not want to dwell on his own words. Doing so would only be a reminder of how often he had ignored them for himself, resorting to a litany of counter-reminders to keep from straying off his course: he did not need to <em>be</em> loved, to be part of someone's life, when he had been engineering his own erasure the entire time.<br/>
<br/>
Despite the tone, the Warrior did not seem to take offense. She only considered him for another handful of sober heartbeats before sliding easily back into action. "Then I thank you for your assistance." She finished her tea with a toss of her head, swallowing the rest of the liquid down with no hesitation for its temperature. "I mean to work quickly, if I can. This male has no sense of self-preservation, and if I dally, he may escape me forever through the excuse of his work."<br/>
<br/>
Raha was already in action, rising to his feet so he could search for the nearest handful of spare paper. "We could begin with some of his history, mayhap," he suggested. "Might there be a regional tradition from where he is from? I shall begin collecting materials from there first."<br/>
<br/>
"He is of the Crystarium, though he knows of other lands in Norvrandt." The Warrior's shrug felt much like Raha's own inward dismay; the city's crystal domes sheltered a mix of every nation. "He was once more practiced at journeying, but is poorly-traveled of late. A fragile, foolish man," she sighed -- and for a moment, a flicker of mournfulness crossed her face, dimming the serene confidence that otherwise dwelt there. "But I am fond of him. I am fond."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Though it was daunting to try and gather a comprehensive total of Norvrandt's current customs, it was not entirely impossible. While the Crystarium had a great number of different traditions which had sprung up since the Flood, many of them had common similarities, much as the Night's Blessed had a number of benedictions which shared the same core values at heart. A wish for Darkness to smile upon them. A reminder that time was fleeting, yet remained precious. Any vows which swore to stand beside your partner for decades had fallen quickly out of fashion after the Sin Eaters had appeared; even a year's anniversary was considered great luck.<br/>
<br/>
But ceremonies had doggedly continued, the Flood's survivors shouting out their refusal to stop living, stop <em>loving</em>, despite how much the Sin Eaters had tried to convince them it was all futile. Even Lyna had her own affairs, though she had become far more discreet after the first time Raha had noticed her dallying with one of the goldsmiths in the markets, suddenly interested about the principles of metalworking even though she had never demonstrated such habits in the past. She had looked entirely mortified when he had asked her politely if there would be anyone else joining them for their dinners; after that, he hadn't been able to spot her extracurricular affairs, and he had been wise enough not to press. <br/>
<br/>
It had been an honest question. Perhaps not entirely honest. Lyna had a soft heart underneath her sternness, and he had no wish to see her hurt by someone seeking to take advantage of her position in the guard. <br/>
<br/>
But -- like the Warrior -- Lyna was in charge of her own liaisons in this regard, and Raha had not been presented with anyone to evaluate yet. <br/>
<br/>
All he could do was offer his aid, and wait.<br/>
<br/>
He tackled the problem as he would any other research document, using broad strokes to outline categories based around traditions both before and after the Flood, and then ones which had been created by the Crystarium itself after inheriting people from so many lands. The work to restore the Scions to the Source was proceeding as best it could with Beq Lugg's help. More and more, however, Raha was suspecting that the final cost would be taken from what little aether remained of his body, converting what was left fully into part of the Tower.<br/>
<br/>
If he could see his dearest companion in the arms of someone who brought her joy, then that would be one more good memory for him to go into the darkness with -- and one less matter to fear leaving behind. <br/>
<br/>
Even so, Raha could not resist trying to identify who this mysterious individual might be. Like a hangnail that he had no blade to shave off, he found himself worrying at it even as it irritated his thoughts, fussing at the blank gap. The Warrior had specified that this man was of the Crystarium, which meant he was not one of the Scions; all of them would have had their shared Eorzean culture to draw upon, anyway. <em>Oblivious</em>, she called the man whenever they met to review Raha's findings. Slow-witted, prone to denial. He was not bright enough to pick up on more elegant invitations, such as particular flowers laid before his door or choice cuts of meat served to him during meals. He was not able to share in her more active pursuits, such as riding amaro or going hunting across Lakeland and the Greatwood. <br/>
<br/>
All in all, Raha was starting to dislike this person, who was clearly <em>not</em> good enough for the Warrior. She deserved only the best.  <br/>
<br/>
And yet, she should be given the chance to be with them -- if such was what she desired. Which meant that Raha not only needed to help devise a means of helping her court the man successfully, but <em>also</em> to help preserve their union even after she had to return to the Source. Sending her beloved across the rift was a possibility -- they had done as much with the Ironworks device -- and yet Raha had to acknowledge that the risks were extraordinarily high. Even if they succeeded, the man's aether would be a mere fraction compared to his surroundings. The imbalance might prove fatal. <br/>
<br/>
Which added another problem. Raha needed to somehow make certain the Tower would keep its doors open to the Warrior even after his demise -- both the one to Syrcus and the portal through the rift, else she would be trapped inside -- along with helping to transport the Scions back in the bargain. <br/>
<br/>
It was all, he was beginning to agree, quite a <em>lot</em> of trouble for someone who clearly did not appreciate their good fortune, and who surely was not worth the Warrior's affections. <br/>
<br/>
But he continued work without flagging. Just as he finished listing out the courting traditions of Kholusian farmers -- their vows before the Flood had involved open-air celebrations that would last four suns to represent the seasons, while those who had been wed would till and seed a shared field together -- he heard the door guard announcing the Warrior's arrival in the Oculus, and paused just long enough to call her up into the study.<br/>
<br/>
She examined his findings with a slight frown, fingers tapping on a section of hume custom which involved repeatedly trading back and forth a silver shovel to signify romantic interest. He, meanwhile, dug out the fare that he had procured from the market that morning: freshly baked bread, some dried meats, and grapes which had been kept chilled and ready for her return. It was a while yet until lunchtime, but he had planned to return to work on the crystals with Beq Lugg in the afternoon, and a sparse meal shared with the Warrior was better than any feast alone. <br/>
<br/>
"How would you do it normally?" he asked out of curiosity as he waited for her to finish. The Warrior had lived in Golmore before coming to Eorzea; it had been a topic of occasional conversation back in Mor Dhona as they had waited on Rammbroes's stew to cook and the latest findings from the Tower's defenses to be analyzed. "Much like the viis of the First, I know that your kinsfolk dwell in separation between the sexes. Does that make it more complicated, or less?"<br/>
<br/>
The Warrior made a one-shouldered shrug, her moon-pale hair sliding over her arm. "Viera males are simpler to court, for they arrive only to collect young jacks, and for the purposes of creating new children. Their presence in the village is one which is already established, both in reason and intent. There is little need to discuss business such as one's preferred hunting practices, or how to arrange one's herbs." Her fingers plucked off a grape and popped it between her lips, bursting it with her teeth. "You do not even need to like each other much, beyond being willing to spend a few bells together in the sheets while you take the sum of your pleasures with one another. I am certain you know what I mean."<br/>
<br/>
He didn't. "<em>Naturally</em>, yes," Raha replied, a little too loudly to feel honest; while he was hardly a novice in such affairs, he was beginning to feel as if he might have rather missed out in certain areas of education. "So is it... much the same, then?"<br/>
<br/>
Finishing up the Kholusian customs, the Warrior did not immediately switch to that of the Greatwood. Instead, she leaned back in her chair and picked at the grapes. "It has been a while since I left my home, but these same practicalities were in use for over a thousand years. I doubt they have changed. When a jack arrives," she continued, skipping over the fruit now to reach for the bread, "those of us who desire a child will meet to discuss the best order of things, and determine a queue. The jack's passion is not limitless, of course, and it would be unfair to sacrifice someone else's turn through simple lottery each time. If you wish to share, all participants still take only one spot -- else, one might simply find three willing friends, and monopolize the jack from one dawn until the next." <br/>
<br/>
Practical indeed. Raha nodded slowly, and then found himself hesitating; somehow, he was not certain what to expect next, other than an equally straightforward arrangement. "And after that?"<br/>
<br/>
"The first few suns are usually the most energetic, particularly for jacks who have not taken other pleasures in the meantime -- but one does not always wish such acrobatics. That is why the third or fourth sun is best for those desiring a more leisurely pace." In illustration, the Warrior aimed her hands in a narrow triangle, gliding it forward as if her palms were two hunters flanking their prey. "That is when the jack has usually begun to slow down, and is easier to ambush. I find they are far more enjoyable in such conditions," she remarked casually, and then made a thoughtful press of her lips as she searched for the proper words next. "Like... mm, a fine cut of venison that has been allowed to marinate overnight in its spices, made tender and supple in its saturation." <br/>
<br/>
Raha tried to speak and then suddenly realized he had to clear his throat. "Oh."<br/>
<br/>
"Once it reaches your turn, you may approach them at the den they are currently in. Then, it is easy." The Warrior spread her hands out, one palm talking to the next. "You say, do you find me of interest? Should they be so inclined, they indicate yes, using either speech or gesture." <br/>
<br/>
"Fair enough." Raha nodded, gamely attempting to keep up. It was like trying to hang onto a chocobo's reins when it had a mind to charge directly into the fray, or listening to a chirurgeon rattle off the number of side effects from ingesting a particular mushroom: detailed, analytical, and more than slightly terrifying as well. "And if they agree?"<br/>
<br/>
"If they agree, <em>then </em>you pick them up, like so," she demonstrated, shoving back her chair far enough from the table that she could throw one hand down low, the other bracing an invisible waist or hip, "fling them over your shoulder, and carry them off to your own den. 'Tis polite to have some light fare for them after, so that you do not wear them out too much for their next encounter. You cannot feed them until the end if you are planning on vigorous exercises -- but if you use them more gently, it is not impossible to take a few short breaks along the way." <br/>
<br/>
He was, Raha decided, not entirely prepared for such mental images. The Warrior was the sort to talk with her hands -- avidly, in fact, as if they still yearned for a weapon even when she had set aside her bow. He had carried that memory with him somehow over a hundred years, recalling how her long fingers would cut through the air. Never a word went by without a gesture to carry it. She had claimed once that anyone who was not a viera would hear nothing unless you shouted it; he had forgotten that particular conversation until she had shown up on the First, and he had watched the fluent dialogue of her knuckles rattle alongside her words.<br/>
<br/>
Those same hands were making emphatic shapes now, fingers interlacing and sliding across each other in symbols that he suspected any dockworker would recognize on the spot. <br/>
<br/>
He imagined them suddenly twining around another's body -- their arms, their waist, their shoulders, and then lower still -- and found his attention veering completely off-course, well away from what he should have been focusing on. <br/>
<br/>
Unaware of his inner turmoil, the Warrior had already moved blithely onto the remainder of her home's ways. "It is more complicated with viera women, as we do not simply vanish from one another's lives after a night, but the same approach can work. I have found the custom is <em>not</em> the same in Eorzea, of course -- not without being mistaken for kidnapping." Her fingernails deftly popped another grape off its stem. "It is much harder to lift roegadyn males in such a fashion, but I have found many roegadyn women to be very amused and willing."<br/>
<br/>
Finishing off the bowl of fruit, the Warrior briskly turned her appetite towards the meat and bread next. "<em>Courting</em> a woman of your tribe is also different. You may choose to dwell together with them, their survival becoming your own. You share your lives, your loves --  and so, making your interest known takes many more forms. Here is one example." Pausing in her meal, she leaned over to slide an arrow out of her quiver where it hung over the back of the nearest chair, and laid it down flat upon the table between them, stroking the fletching affectionately as if to smooth down a pelt of fur. "For hunters, there is a display of marksmanship. You leave an arrow embedded in the lintel of the woman's home, that she may know you seek to come calling. It is even more status if you can split the arrows of another suitor who has already left their mark -- but less so if you destroy their fletching completely, for your intended must be allowed to freely know who is interested in her."<br/>
<br/>
Raha had managed, by then, to compel his fingers to scribble those notes down as well; the Warrior did not need him to annotate her own customs for her, but he could at least apply it to finding similarities on the First. "Have you had any luck with using such methods with Eorzea's people?"<br/>
<br/>
She scrunched up her nose as she counted back. The silence hung and then dragged long, growing more heavy by the moment with tales unspoken. Finally, the Warrior made a teetering wave of her palm, back and forth like a cloudkin caught in a crosswind. "I have had the worst results with Gridanian Wildwood -- they seem extraordinarily picky when it comes to friendly strangers, as if poachers might be sneaking into their villages and digging their savings from beneath their mattresses. But Sea Wolves, ah, <em>they</em> are <em>very</em> agreeable," she brightened, some memory coming to her and stirring enough delight in the process to curve her lips in remembered satisfaction. "I would say, oh, my next boat will be named after you, I <em>swear</em> it." She pressed a fist theatrically to her chest, and then to her mouth. "That is typically more than enough to relieve them of their smallclothes, particularly if they have been drinking. It is customary to consummate our lusts together upon its deck, underneath the stars -- but as I have never owned a ship in my life, a rowboat can do in a pinch."<br/>
<br/>
It was hard to prevent either his imagination from beginning to fall down a cliff again, or to stem the distinct prickling of blood in Raha's face. He regretted the loss of his hood; the skin of his face which had not become crystal still retained the ability to blush. "I assume not out on the waters," he managed. "Lest you upend the vessel itself."<br/>
<br/>
Her noncommittal shrug only made his imagination worse. "Surely <em>you</em> have courted more than a few in your time here, Exarch. What methods have you used with success?"<br/>
<br/>
Now, at least, Raha had cause to excuse his embarrassment upon; he was not the type to brag about his dalliances as if they were trophies to compare, and yet his bed had not been entirely cold throughout the years either. Despite himself, he found his mouth quirking with the fondness of more than a few memories. It had not been courting -- not in a fashion beyond the few stolen moments of connection that the Sin Eaters had allowed -- but those moments had been full of their own warmth, as discreet as they had been from necessity. <br/>
<br/>
"We have all had our histories," he evaded, clearing his throat. He looked back down upon the page and dipped his quill back into the ink to refill the reservoir. "I am too old for such things now."<br/>
<br/>
What had worked as a highly successful excuse for the last few dozen years was utterly ignored this time. The Warrior snorted in disdain, and stabbed a long finger towards him for emphasis. "Too <em>old?</em> You are merely into your first century. I am older than you by <em>several</em> decades, and you have not told <em>me</em> to stop."<br/>
<br/>
His ears flattened back in protest. "You are... that is <em>different</em>. You are viis -- a viera," he corrected, reminding himself that it was safe to use words from the Source with her. It was a long habit to overcome. "A hundred years to you is the same as a decade for a miqo'te."<br/>
<br/>
"And <em>you</em> are not one," she replied coyly. "Not merely a miqo'te, not anymore. You have lived more of your years on the First than you ever would have naturally on the Source. If I have had to learn the customs of other lands, you surely have as well." <br/>
<br/>
The argument was irrefutable; Raha could not rightfully deny it. "Not enough," he laughed, conceding the point. "Not enough to tell the people I care about properly, I suspect."<br/>
<br/>
It slipped out of him unexpectedly, a jest with too much truth behind it. He opened his mouth to try and dismiss the whole thing as a mistake -- but then, as he considered all his deliberate distance from the people of the Crystarium, from Lyna and even the Warrior herself, he realized it was all true.<br/>
<br/>
He looked down, abashed that he had allowed his own shortcomings to overshadow her quest. "Mayhap I am the wrong person to assist you," he acknowledged. "I have not delved properly into the trappings of love for so long that I may have forgotten how."<br/>
<br/>
But the Warrior merely gave a tolerant shake of her head, amusement curving the corners of her lips. "You are not wrong," she said kindly, and pushed the bread towards him, waiting until he relented and finally took a piece for himself. "You are simply very <em>bad</em> at these things."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Progress on the list went quickly, thankfully enough; after a certain point, the Warrior was able to take their shared notes and bring them to the Cabinet of Curiosity for cross-referencing by librarians native to the First, who were well-equipped to identify their own cultural customs. With all of them working on the task, the stack of notes was growing to a degree that felt remarkably satisfying when considered from a historical perspective: a legacy of betrothal and courting customs which had been preserved through the Flood and then the night's return. Moren had even made a passing comment to Raha that they might consider binding and circulating any final volumes; now that the First was no longer at risk of imminent destruction, people's minds were turning rather avidly towards repopulating it. <br/>
<br/>
But all of the suggestions that Raha had managed to bring to the Warrior -- informal exchanges of gifts, tokens and invitations to spend time anywhere that Sin Eaters <em>weren't</em> -- had been turned down so far. Not from a particular stubbornness on the Warrior's part. The man she had chosen, apparently, was simply very talented at <em>not</em> accepting anything for himself, and so the easiest route had already been thwarted in advance.<br/>
<br/>
"He is not of poor finances, so he does not need assistance with such things." Tracing her finger down the newest list, the Warrior made a displeased scowl, and pushed the page aside with an exasperated sigh. "He denies gifts if he knows they are being made with such overtures. He is a terrible cook, and so any meat I might bring him from a hunt would certainly be wasted in his kitchen. <em>And </em>I am a far better shot than he is, though he would <em>never</em> admit it."<br/>
<br/>
Equally dismayed, Raha similarly considered the options. "Does he have children? Other partners?" He straightened up in his chair, ears perking with hope. "Even if he does not accept gifts directly, he may yet appreciate them if they go to support his loved ones. Doing so would also demonstrate that you respect the other relationships in his life, and intend to care for them in turn."<br/>
<br/>
"There is one child, a woman grown, and I have spoken to her already." Holding up her pen between two fingertips, the Warrior narrowed her eyes at it -- and then set it aside, rejecting it as an idea as well. "She has said that he is <em>wretched</em> at taking care of himself, and that if I were to claim him, 'twould be a mercy on both himself and her. I am inclined to agree," she added tartly. "It is a miracle he has survived this long."<br/>
<br/>
Which brought them right back to the start. Any practical gifts to the man's family would surely be best applied to him directly, by the sound of it. Raha tried to fight back a matching frown. "Does she know of anything he needs?"<br/>
<br/>
"She has had the same luck I have. I am too <em>old</em> for this," the Warrior complained mournfully, despite all her complaints of Raha claiming the excuse. In a deliberate, pronounced series of motions, she lifted her hands up and then shoved them forward, as if sliding a baking tray into an oven. "<em>Put</em> the jack directly <em>into </em>my bed, and let us be <em>done </em>with this business."<br/>
<br/>
Raha managed to keep the extent of his reaction to a single raised eyebrow; he could well imagine her performing that exact motion, save with a person's body held upon her palms. He could imagine -- "Will you tell me more about the man himself?" he ventured hastily, trying not to let himself consider it any more than an intellectual curiosity. "If there was no single courting tradition that might apply, a new one might well serve instead."<br/>
<br/>
The Warrior rolled backwards, the elegance of her bones slouching against her chair as she let its golden frame prop her upright. "He is fussy. Delicate. Prone to <em>terrible</em> ideas whenever he gets a notion into his head. Horrible at speaking directly." She scowled, and then -- like sunlight pooling through a window, thawing the frost that had gathered on the glass -- her expression softened into affection. "All the same, I do not wish to have him depart my life so swiftly. Not for many decades more. Mayhap... not ever."<br/>
<br/>
Such vices hardly made this stranger any more endearing to Raha's mind; while it was not his place to pick and choose the Warrior's partners, he could not help but wonder what exactly had compelled her to select this man in the first place. If not for her claim that they were from the Source, he would have begun to suspect it was Urianger from the list of flaws. "I should hope, at least,  that he is giving you the same thought and considerations that you are granting him. Are you certain he is worth it?"<br/>
<br/>
She regarded him with a steady, unperturbed look that he could not fully interpret, as if the very demonstration of his concern had reinforced her decision. "Yes," she declared. "He is."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>She showed up the next morning to the Ocular, which spared him from digging further into a slim volume he had only recently uncovered of Ondo social customs, so tattered and damaged by salt water that each leaf felt as if it would snap in half whenever he turned it.<br/>
<br/>
"I have enlisted some of the librarians to aid in a final compilation," she announced, and brandished a handful of papers at him. "I believe I now have a satisfactory result. Will you listen to me recite it, Exarch?"<br/>
<br/>
Impressed by the scholarship -- it was no small feat to condense down what must have been hundreds of different customs into a few pages, instead of a few volumes -- Raha gave a nod, and set aside his staff. "Of course," he said, stepping down to the center of the Ocular to join her. His eyes lingered on the pages longer than he wished them to; regardless of his opinion towards the mysterious individual that had captured the Warrior's heart, he still owed her all the help he was capable of giving.<br/>
<br/>
<em>This will be her confession to a person she loves</em>, he forced himself to acknowledge. <em>It is what she deserves. As one who cares for her deeply, my role is to give her the support she needs in order to find that happiness.</em> <br/>
<br/>
Bolstered by that resolution, he straightened his shoulders and stood at attention, waiting for her to separate out the notes from the script. <br/>
<br/>
"Crystal Exarch," she read off from the top sheet, and then clarified with an incline of her head towards him, "G'raha Tia." He nodded encouragingly along with her; of course the librarians would not have had his real name when they were helping compile the final documents. "Have you had any bedmates within the last three suns?" <br/>
<br/>
He choked, even though he had nothing save his own air and spit to do it on; his body tried anyway to save him from a new form of demise, sensing his impending doom for him. <br/>
<br/>
"Am I... to answer honestly, with my own personal information?" he asked weakly, once he had recovered.<br/>
<br/>
The Warrior leveled an unrelenting stare at him. "Do you see anyone <em>else </em>around I might ask?"<br/>
<br/>
Both possibilities were equally bad. Just in case, Raha spared a quick glance to the doorway; Lyna or another guard might have chosen at that fortuitous moment to come and rescue him. Any hope promptly withered on the floor. "Then, no," he replied, as evenly as he could, though his voice dwindled on the last syllable, slinking away like a mouse. "None."<br/>
<br/>
She made a pleased nod to herself -- ruined somewhat by the distinct lack of surprise in it, as if she had reasoned so all along. "Have you had a proper meal within the last seven bells, including refreshment?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes?" He frowned then, suddenly suspicious by the nature of the questions. "Wait, is this Lyna's way of attempting to get me to feed myself on time -- "<br/>
<br/>
The Warrior interrupted his fears with an impatient shushing noise, flapping her hand at him until he quieted. "I will assume, for the intended purposes, that you are in good health," she conceded, and turned to the next page. After scanning the top line, she frowned. Finally accepting whatever instructions the librarians had seen fit to list first, she went down to one knee -- somewhat awkwardly, as she was still attempting to read from the notes clutched in both hands. "I have spoken with the closest members of your kin, and they have given their blessing upon us. If you are willing to hear my suit, then I would swear to protect them as I might my own blood, that those whom you hold as part of your life also become part of mine."<br/>
<br/>
The customs were reasonable enough, though Raha could already sense how they were being matched together like patches of a quilt, drawing on whatever fabric was on hand. "I am willing."<br/>
<br/>
"Would you give me the honor of looking upon your naked, unhelmed face -- ah, never mind that part, you have already done as much, by dwarven standards you have bedded us <em>all </em>by now." The Warrior shuffled the papers again to the next page dismissively, thankfully vaulting over whatever next question might have demanded further nudity. "Here. As the darkness brings sweet relief from the unrelenting punishment of the light, so too do you bring succor to my heart. If you would share your true name with me, I would cradle it like a secret upon my tongue, and give you mine to whisper back into our shared embrace." She frowned then, and looked back to the first sheet. "Here is the part where I am supposed to ask you what your name is. Mayhap I should have begun with this page first."<br/>
<br/>
It was Raha's turn to shake his head in dismissal of such concerns. "No," he protested, unable to keep from smiling. Warmth -- a strange and selfish kind -- was twisting through his chest with each new promise from her lips. None of it was truly directed at him, he knew. He did not have the right to claim it.<br/>
<br/>
But it was, for a short while, worth the brief fantasy. Even if the entire rehearsal was little more than an illusion, it made Raha's blood beat just as nervously as if it were real. He was caught between two currents, like a ship being tugged to pieces: craving each affection she offered, and equally terrified that the next one would be too much for him to finally bear. He would shatter beneath the giddiness of yearning before she was through with him. He would never put himself back together.<br/>
<br/>
"No," he managed again, <em>wanting </em>to reply in greater detail, even though she did not need him to perform such an act. "You may speak my name, as I would yours. You may say -- " The air was so thick in his lungs. He knew what he meant to voice, but all of his words tripped over themselves, fighting to be heard. Even if it was pretend, he wanted it to be honest for only that moment, and then he would know at last what it might mean to utter such things in truth. "G'raha. <em>Raha</em>. My name is yours to speak. It is yours to hold."<br/>
<br/>
Her lips pulled into a pleased, slow smile, and he remembered then how she had called for him on Mt. Gulg, so desperately that the joy of being recognized had been enough to even blot out the pain of the Light briefly. "<em>Ra</em>ha," she purred, her voice low and rippling over the syllables, and even though he knew it was not a true confession -- it <em>wasn't </em>true, she was merely practicing, she was just making certain everything sounded correct -- Raha found his breathing hitch further. "Let us join together side by side, as the two heads of Voeburt's wolves each protect the other, and the two tails of Twine stretch across the cliffs. There shall be no threat that finds you without my hand to stop it. There will be no enemy of yours that is not also mine to slay. We will walk the endless sands without thirst, for you will be the water of life that sustains me, and I will be the shade which shelters your brow. There is no treasure in the depths of all the earth which shines brighter than you in my eyes." She cocked her head towards him again. "Yes?"<br/>
<br/>
With a deep breath that felt as if he could taste his heart in the back of his mouth -- the salt of either his own blood being crushed out of his tightening veins, or the warning of tears later -- Raha forced himself to track each point. The practice of true names would have originated from the Night's Blessed. Voeburt meant old customs for the galdjent and drahn survivors. Even Nabaath had a voice. Raha managed to struggle back to a shaky semblance of coherency. "Yes," he answered to her rather pointed stare, realizing she would not proceed without some form of response. "I believe you."<br/>
<br/>
"Then may all the rainbows of earth and sky stretch over us and share in our joy -- faeries do not court in the same fashion that mortals do, but I thought it polite," she clarified as an aside, before resuming her recitation, "and let us ascend together into the... something which is <em>not </em>the Light. And certainly <em>not </em>by Vauthry's hand. If all such unions were officiated by the man, would that not mean they are invalid now?"<br/>
<br/>
The nub of her nose was wrinkling in dismay by the last sentence, and Raha finally managed to draw in a draught of air that did not feel as if he was drowning in it. "Eulmore will have to rethink more than merely its finances," he chuckled, shaking his head in an attempt to scatter every memory of the last few moments, and return him back to reality once more. <br/>
<br/>
But she was scowling at him now, as if all her irritation with Vauthry's governance could be transferred directly to him. Her mouth pressed into a small, furious bow. <br/>
<br/>
"Well? I cannot fire an arrow at the Tower's lintel," she added impatiently. "I know full well what defenses <em>that </em>will invite, and I have no wish to turn myself -- nor half your guards -- to char. Shall I shoot your gates instead? A chocobo?"<br/>
<br/>
Perplexed by this turn in the conversation, Raha tacked down the first question he could. "But why would you wish to leave your favor upon the Tower? The only one who dwells within is -- <em>oh</em>." His mind jerked to a halt. "I. Oh."<br/>
<br/>
The Warrior arched her eyebrows meaningfully, even as the rest of Raha's exclamation turned into an unformed mess that sounded as if he was slowly groaning himself to death before he had the wit to shut his mouth on it. <br/>
<br/>
<em>A fragile, foolish man</em>, she had said. <em>But I am fond of him. I am fond.</em><br/>
<br/>
Every onze of exhilaration he had felt before was returning now -- only this time, it felt as if he was plummeting down a pit to meet it, tipped over into an endless fall that would shatter him irrevocably by the end. He had noticed moments of affection from her before, much like she had demonstrated to all the Scions. All her friends. All of Eorzea. Raha had never permitted himself to think otherwise. The truth afterwards would have been too painful to live through: a brief moment of allowing himself to believe he was loved by her, and then having to acknowledge that he was not. <br/>
<br/>
"I find you of interest," he said, hoping frantically that this fit within the appropriate protocols. "And I would... I would allow you to -- to throw me -- " <br/>
<br/>
He could not finish. His voice was lost in a mixture of yearning and terror, hungry to say yes and also afraid of it as well -- of having a dream given to him that he had so carefully trained himself to deny. She was already standing again, rising to her full height and looking down upon him with a pleased anticipation, regarding him with all the surety of someone who knew <em>exactly </em>what she wanted, and that someone was <em>him</em>.<br/>
<br/>
He thought again about all her various hand gestures throughout the process as she had been imagining various physical acts -- imagining them with <em>him</em>, specifically, and the acknowledgement was enough to fully strip the rest of his voice away. <br/>
<br/>
"Does this remain a yes, then?" she asked, deliberately teasing even as she demanded his clarity. <br/>
<br/>
Raha looked up to her, wading through all his panic and hope and longing, allowing himself to touch just the barest layer of the love she was offering, and not flinch back.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes," he answered, accepting -- at last -- both her intentions and his own desire to receive them. "Please, have me."<br/>
<br/>
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